Scenes from a Tower
by Eileen
Summary: Sequel to 2013. More scenes of everyday life in and around Avengers Tower. Ch. 8: Bruce gets an inviite to his twenty-fifth high school reunion, but does he want to go?
1. The Question of Us

"I hate this weather," Darcy said, pulling her jacket tighter around her and shivering.

"I love this weather," Loki said, slipping an arm around her. "I like it when it's cold like this. It's so clean and fresh."

"It's freezing! How can you stand it?"

He looked at her.

"Oh, right-Frost Giant. Though you're not really a giant, are you? More like a Frost Midget."

"I would never have survived in Jotunheim," he said, stopping at the corner as the light changed. "I know that now. I was lucky to end up in the less brutal realm of Asgard. But my heart still longs for the ice and snow, and winter is my favorite time of year."

"Well, that makes one of us." The WALK sign came on, and they crossed the street. "Listen, I need to talk to you about something."

"What is it?"

"It's about . . . us. I mean, whether or not there **is** an 'us.' Since your wife came back and all-"

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "You think Sigyn and I are getting back together?"

"Aren't you? You seemed pretty close when she was here last month."

"And she left with the children, just after New Year's. You are still here."

"So wait a minute. Am I your second choice? 'If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with?' That kind of thing?"

"Should I not care for you any longer?"

"That's not the point! I'm saying . . . if you want to go and be with her, I can live with that. But don't use me as a substitute just because I'm here!"

He stepped off to the side, out of the way of passersby, and held her in his arms. "I would never use you as a substitute for her," he crooned into her ear. "I love her because she is faithful, and she listens to me, and she loves me no matter what I do. I love **you **because you're impulsive, and exciting, and fascinating-"

"And irritating?"

"At times. You've talked to my parents?"

"I don't know what your problem with them is. They're very nice people."

"It's complicated."

"Anyway, they say it's not unusual for . . . well, people like you . . . to have more than one woman. They weren't upset about it at all. Even Sigyn agreed that it was okay. Down here, that's called cheating. Husbands and wives have done some pretty nasty things to each other over it."

"It is different where I come from."

"Yeah, I guess so. So there's still an 'us,' then?"

"There will always be an 'us,'" he said, kissing the top of her head. "As long as you live."


	2. Doctor on Call

Betty Ross loved her new work space in Avengers Tower. It was only two floors below her living space, and four floors below Bruce's apartment. The commute took her exactly five minutes and twenty-seven seconds, a time she was hoping to improve soon. She got most of her daily exercise going up and down those stairs. No elevators for her, unless she was headed all the way to street level.

The lab was right next to the tower's new medical center, which so far had been unused. She didn't expect a lot of traffic, unless there was a battle, and so far things had been quiet.

That was about to change.

* * *

It was about eleven-thirty, close to lunch time, when he came in.

Betty had been looking forward to leaving the lab, walking down to meet Bruce at the free clinic where he volunteered, and checking out that new Indian place, but as soon as the bell went off, she knew she'd have to wait for lunch.

"What can I do for-" she began, and then she saw who it was. "Loki? What's wrong?"

The god was clutching his stomach and looking absolutely miserable. "Dr. Ross," he said, "I think I'm dying."

She was pretty sure he wasn't-wasn't even sure he **could **die-but all she said was, "Okay, hop up on the table there and I'll take a look at you."

He looked at the exam table, and then looked back at her. "You're joking, right?"

"Do you need a hand?"

"No, no, just a minute or two."

He was in obvious pain as he climbed up on the table, and it appeared genuine. "Just lie back and relax," Betty said as she got out his file.

Bruce had already made notes on the other Avengers and their various medical quirks. There were notes in Loki's file about his sensitivity to warm temperatures, his motion sickness, and the minor differences in his vital signs, so that she'd know what to look for.

"When did this start?" she asked.

"An hour ago, maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I wasn't looking at my watch at the time! Approximately an hour."

"Is it a sharp pain, or more like an ache?"

"It's . . . sort of all over. It feels more like pressure than a sharp pain."

Betty nodded. She had her suspicions about what this actually was, but she had to be thorough in her examination. She pressed down lightly at various points on his abdomen, watching for a reaction. There was none.

"That didn't hurt at all, when I pressed down?"

"No more than it was already hurting."

"Fine." She took his temperature next. Though she was prepared for it to be lower than normal (human normal), the reading of 96.9 still surprised her.

"You don't have a fever," she told him.

"I rarely do."

"What have you had to eat or drink today? Anything out of the ordinary?"

"No, just what I always eat . . . wait a minute. Last night, I had some reheated chili. Could that have set it off?"

"Set what off?"

"The appendicitis."

"I don't think it's appendicitis. Of course, I'm not sure you even have an appendix. We could run a scan to be sure." She gestured toward the machine, which resembled a horizontal shower stall. "Care to climb inside?"

Loki eyed the scanner with a great deal of trepidation. "I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you. Can you fix what's wrong with me without my having to subject myself to your invasive scans?"

"I think so. Wait right here." She went to the closet where the medicines were kept, and found what she was looking for easily. "Here," she said, handing him the bottle. "Two spoonfuls of this ought to take care of the problem."

He looked at it. "It's pink."

"It works, trust me. Take this and go lie down for a while, and you should be fine by dinner time."

"Ugh, don't mention food to me," he groaned, but he took the bottle from her anyway. "What if this doesn't work?"

"If it doesn't, I'll drive you to the emergency room myself, but I think you'll be fine. Do you need help back to your room? Or maybe you want to lie down here?" She gestured toward the six-bed ward just beyond the examination area.

"No, I can make it. Thank you, Doctor."

"Call me Betty," she said, and flicked a strand of hair out of her eyes.

He left, and that, she thought, was that.

Until the next day, when he once again stumbled in (this time at two in the afternoon), complaining of a brain tumor.

"What makes you think you have a brain tumor?" she asked, as she helped him up onto the table.

"The blinding pain in my head, for one thing," he snapped. "I'm seeing flashes of light, and there's a buzz in my ears. I just want to lie down and die; can I do that here?"

"No, this is not a place for dying. Did these symptoms come on suddenly, or gradually?"

"Suddenly. I was sitting at the computer, and it was as if someone stabbed me through the eye. No one did, did they?"

"No." She shook her head, fighting the urge to smile. "What you have is called a migraine. I can give you something for it." She rummaged in the pill closet again, and came up with two small white pills. "Take these, and then go lie down in a dark room for a while. That's basically all you can do. If they become more frequent, or last for a long time, I can do a scan, but I think you should be okay. Take care, now." She sent him on his way with the bottle of small white pills, hoping this would be the end of it.

Nope. Two days later, he came in with a bad cough, insisting that this time, it really was the end. Though she was getting a little tired of this now, Betty gave him a full exam, including a chest X-ray, and came up with . . . nothing much.

"You have a cold," she told him. "You're not dying."

"Are you sure? I have this burning pain in my chest-"

"All the time, or just when you cough?"

"Well, mostly when I cough, but . . . what are you doing?"

"Just getting you some cough medicine. This should do it." It was an ordinary bottle of a common over-the-counter medication, but in professional packaging. "Just follow the directions, and come see me if you have any more problems."

That last part, as she was soon to learn, would turn out to be the biggest mistake she made.

* * *

Two nights later, Betty came to dinner with the others on the top floor. She was exhausted, but hadn't managed to get any actual work done; most of her day, like the previous day, had been spent catering to the whims of a hypochondriac god. It was getting to the point where she didn't want to see Loki anymore, even if he actually **was **dying.

Bruce saw her face and asked, "What's wrong, hon?"

She sighed. "He's at it again."

"Who?"

"Who do you think? Every day this week, he's interrupted me in the middle of my work with some emergency that turns out not to be an emergency! So far, he's had-thought he's had-appendicitis, a brain tumor, pneumonia, meningitis, chronic fatigue syndrome, and . . . an unplanned pregnancy."

"That has happened before," said Thor.

"**What**?" She whirled to face him. "You don't actually mean he's been pregnant before, do you?"

"He thought he was. When Sigyn was carrying the twins, he suffered all the same symptoms she did. He even insisted he could feel movement."

"It's called a sympathetic pregnancy," she said, nodding. "I've heard it's quite common, actually."

"My brother is hardly ever ill, especially in the winter time. But sometimes he pretends he is to gain sympathy. Since Darcy left on Saturday, he has had a lack of female attention in his life."

"Ah," she said, "now the picture becomes clearer. Maybe I should go talk to him about it."

"Be gentle with him. He . . . has trouble expressing his emotions."

"I'll get him to open up. I think I know what the real issue is here. If he doesn't come up for dinner, I'll go and see him."

They waited twenty minutes, but he never showed. Finally they started without him. And all through dinner, Bruce noticed that Betty had that look in her eye: she was formulating a plan. By the time the table was cleared, she knew exactly what she would say to the malingering prince.

* * *

When she went up and knocked on his door, Loki didn't answer right away. This worried her, but only for a moment. Then she heard the rumble of a television laugh track, and understood why he didn't hear her. She knocked louder.

Eventually, he came to the door. "Dr. Ross, what a surprise. I hope I'm not keeping you from anything."

"Not at all. I just wanted to look in on you and see how you were feeling."

"Better, definitely better. Please, come in."

She followed him into his small apartment, which was laid out pretty much the same as her own. The door opened on a spacious living room, with a kitchenette off to the side. The door to the bedroom just beyond was standing ajar, and it was from there that the TV sounds were coming.

"I was worried about you," she said. "You've had a hard time this week. It's just been one thing after another. You're feeling better now?"

"Yes, much better. You must have a lot to do, and I've been keeping you busy . . ."

"That's my job. Maybe not officially, but even superheroes need a doctor now and then. Besides, I wanted to talk to you about something."

He directed her to sit on the comfortable-looking sofa. "Yes? What?"

"I've been talking to your brother, and he says this isn't the first time you've had . . . symptoms like this."

Loki sighed. "I was hoping you wouldn't find out about that. Rather embarrassing , really."

"I don't think so. I think all of these incidents have one thing in common: a need for attention. Female attention, in particular. I understand your girlfriend left this past weekend?"

"She had to get back to work, and school. She's almost done with her thesis, she says. I don't want to keep her from that."

"The though occurs that all of the women in your life have one thing in common."

"And what would that be?"

"Isn't it obvious? I met your mother when she was here for Christmas. Very nice woman . . . with brown hair."

He turned away. "Don't make this into something kinky and Freudian, Doctor."

"I don't think it's kinky at all. I wasn't trying to imply that. Your relationship with your mother is the one pure relationship you have left. She's the one person who never gave up on you, never stopped loving you no matter what you've done. It's no surprise that you'd look to replicate that with a woman who resembled her, even a little bit."

"You . . . don't mind?"

"I believe the first few times you came to see me were for genuine illnesses. The stomach upset was real. I think the migraine was, too. After that, though, you enjoyed the attention so much that you began looking up different afflictions on WebMD so that you would have an excuse to keep seeing me."

"It was Yahoo Health," he said, "not WebMD. But you're right. Dr. Banner is a lucky man to have you."

"I don't think we've fully sorted out yet what we are to each other," she said. "But I'd like it, for now, if you and I were friends. Is that okay with you?"

"Friends," he said, looking at her bluntly. "And that's it?"

"I think that's enough for now, don't you?"

"I suppose," he said. "I've enjoyed this little talk, Doctor."

"Call me Betty," she said, smiling.


	3. Frozen Hearts

Nathan didn't mind the cold, most of the time. He had a thick fur coat over most of his body, to protect him. Over it, he wore a down jacket, and a hat, gloves, and fleece-lined boots. Most of the time, that was enough to keep him plenty warm.

But lately, the temperature had been in the single digits, with wind chills that made it feel even lower, too cold for even someone covered with fur to go outside. The mansion was big enough so he didn't feel claustrophobic, but he wanted to go play in all that thick, white, beautiful snow out there. There was a hill nearby where all the kids went sledding. Nathan had a specially reinforced sled, big enough to hold him and a passenger or half a dozen regular-sized kids. Sometimes he would tow them up the hill and watch them slide down.

Not today. Too cold. Miss Jean had said so.

He sat at the front window, looking out at the sparkling expanse of snow. It was too pretty to leave alone! Snow like that demanded a track of footprints across it, going in all different directions to confuse people. (Everyone but Mr. Logan, who was the best tracker in the world.)

"Whatcha doin'?"

He jumped and turned around, but it was only Riley. "You scared me!"

"What are you looking at?"

"All that snow. Seems a shame to just leave it there."

"Yeah, I know. But it's too cold to be out for more than ten minutes at a time."

He looked at her, mischief written on his face. "A person could do a lot in ten minutes."

"I'll get my coat."

"I'll get my sled."

* * *

"Hey, Tiny, you up for a bonus round in the-huh."

Logan looked around the front hall. The window seat Nathan had recently vacated was still warm, so he couldn't have gone far. "Hey, kid! I just figured out how to make it snow in the Danger Room!"

No sign of him. Logan followed the kid's trail from the window seat to the back door, to . . .

_Aw, no!_

Nathan's sled was missing.

"Better get the snowshoes on."

Minutes later, appropriately dressed for the weather (which was just a **little **colder than Canada), Logan headed out. He knew exactly where the kid was going. And that he wasn't alone.

"Stupid . . . **told **him a hundred times, it's too cold to go out, but does he listen? I don't know, these kids today . . ."

He found them at the bottom of the sledding hill, too tired to go up one more time. "What are you **doing**? Don't you know what the wind chill is out here? You could get frostbite!"

"H-h-has it been t-t-t-ten minutes already?" Riley asked.

"I think it's been long enough for you two. We're goin' back inside. I got something to show you."

"I'm sorry," Nathan said. "I just wanted to go sledding. D-didn't want to waste all this pretty snow."

"It's too cold out here for you to be messing around in the snow, fur or no fur! Time to go home and warm up."

They went back to the mansion, where the two youngsters spent a good half hour in front of the fireplace, wrapped in matching afghans, with steaming cups of sugar-free cocoa. Once Logan had declared them sufficiently warm to resume their daily routine, he offered to show them his surprise.

"I was looking at the temperature and environmental controls," he said, "and I found out that there's a way to make it snow in the Danger Room. Who wants to build a snowman?"

Riley and Nathan looked at each other. Without saying a word, they made their decision: he grabbed his hat and mittens, she slipped on her jacket.

"That settles that, then."


	4. Breaking the Law

"You want me to **what**?" Tony looked at Loki and wondered when the god had lost his mind.

"Turn off the cameras in my rooms. Just for a few days. I need to do something, and I don't want it recorded and going viral on the Internet."

"Oh, like I'd ever do that," Tony said, while checking to make sure that his "Blackmail" file was still secure.

"In all the time I have been here, have I ever given you reason to distrust me?"

"Well . . . there was the window incident."

"You know very well that I was not in my right mind at the time! I mean since then!"

"Since then? Um . . . you stole my car."

"To drive Natasha to the hospital! She was in labor, and none of you were around!"

"Okay, I'll give you that one. So, um . . . uh . . . you know, I can't think of anything else. You've been good for the past few months. I can't turn the cameras off, though, but I will set them up to alert us only in life-threatening situations. That good enough for you?"

"Yes, thank you." And he disappeared back into his suite of rooms, where few were ever allowed.

Strange, Tony thought. What was he up to?

* * *

"I wonder if you could do me a favor, Agent Barton?"

"Hnh?" Clint looked up from where he had been dozing in the comfortable chair, to see an eager Loki looming over him. "What?"

"Do you know where I could find a costume shop in this area?"

"Costume shop? Why? You going out for Mardi Gras?"

"Marti what?"

"Guess not. What would you need a costume for, then?"

"Not a party costume. Something a bit more durable, I think. Like a . . . stage costume. Are there any theatrical supply shops nearby?"

"Do I look like Google to you?" the agent snapped.

Loki looked hurt. "Sorry to disturb you. I'll try the phone book."

"Yeah, you go do that." Clint settled back down in the chair, and started to doze off before a sudden thought jarred him awake again.

_What does he need a costume for?_

* * *

"Can I help with that?"

"Sure." Natasha, getting off the elevator with the baby carrier in one hand and the diaper bag slung across her chest, put her son down for a moment and handed Loki the bag.

"I needed to ask you something," he said, as he followed her into the apartment.

"Okay. What is it?"

"Do you know where I can get explosives?"

She was so startled she almost dropped the baby. "**WHAT?"**

"I need some explosive devices. Nothing big, just a bang and . . . effects."

"What are you planning to blow up?"

"No, it's . . . it's just for effect. I don't want to blow anything up."

"Then why do you want explosives?"

"I've been watching some music videos, and a lot of them have big, flashy fire and smoke effects. I was looking for something like that."

"Pyrotechnics, you mean," she said, relieved. "I don't know where you'd go to get something like that."

"Could I Google it?"

"Not without raising a red flag, you couldn't. If Fury finds out you're looking for explosive devices, he'll come after you and-**why **exactly do you need these pyrotechnics?"

"I can't say," he told her.

"You realize that just makes it look more suspicious."

"I know, but it has to be a secret for a few more days. Trust me, you'll all be very surprised."

She looked at him, and then she said, "You can insert your evil laugh now."

"Evil laugh?"

"Forget it. Um, do you mind? I have to feed-"

"Oh, of course." He stepped out so she could finish unbuttoning her blouse and commence the feeding.

* * *

"Hey, has anyone seen my spare costume?" Steve called out.

"Your **spare** costume?" Natasha asked. She put the movie on pause. "I thought you only had one."

"One battle costume, one publicity costume. It's the second one that's missing."

"Are you scheduled for an appearance?" asked Bruce.

"Not till the weekend. I was going to go over it and make sure there aren't any stains or wrinkles."

"When did you see it last?" Pepper asked him.

"Last night. I took it to the cleaners, brought it home, still in the plastic bag, and hung it up in my closet. I went to get it just now, and it wasn't there."

"Well, it didn't just walk away," said Tony. "JARVIS, search the security footage for the past twelve hours and see what happened."

"I have already found the culprit in question," the AI replied.

"Really? Who?"

"You shall see."

An image appeared in the air in front of them, a clip from the latest security footage, time and date stamped with today's date, in an hour when no one else was awake. The figure entering the closet and removing the suit in its plastic bag could be seen clearly.

"Loki," Tony grumbled. "What the hell is he doing?"

"Where is he now?" Steve asked.

"Mr. Laufeyson has left the building," JARVIS reported, "but he left behind a short video file for you."

"Well, play it. I want to hear what he has to say for himself."

"Very good, sir."

The screen flicked to an image of Loki, his hair pulled back from his face, staring into the camera and grinning.

"I bet you all are wondering what I'm up to," he began. "Well, I can't tell you, but I can show you. Meet me at this location-" a map flashed briefly on the screen-"tomorrow night at seven o'clock. You don't want to miss this! I'll save the best seats in the house for you."

Then the screen went dark; the message was over.

"That doesn't explain a thing," Tony said. "Other than that he's got a plan, and he needs us there in person."

"And it involves pyrotechnics," said Natasha. The others looked at her. "He asked me where he could find some. I didn't tell him, of course."

"And you didn't tell anyone this?" Steve demanded.

"He said something about a music video. It sounded like a legitimate explanation to me." She shrugged. "You don't think-"

"Big Bad has snapped again?" Tony finished. "And he's set a trap for us?"

"I think we should call Fury," Clint said. "If Loki's turned evil again-"

"What about Loki turning evil?" the booming voice reverberated through the entire room.

The others turned and saw Thor, newly returned from Asgard, standing there with his hammer in hand and looking very serious.

"We don't know that for sure," said Natasha, "but the past few days, he's been keeping things from us. Sneaking around and asking for things he shouldn't have."

"What things?"

"Things that go boom. He said it was just for effect, but now I'm starting to worry."

"As am I. I find it hard to believe that after all this time, my brother would return to his evil ways, but . . ."

"But it looks pretty bad for him," Tony finished.

"There's one way to find out," said Steve. "Go to this place tomorrow night. We'll go in together, expecting the worst-that way we'll be ready for anything."

"I hope we're wrong about this," said Bruce, "but I honestly can't think of a scenario involving explosives that could possibly be innocent."

"Do we call Fury?" Clint asked.

"No," said Steve. "Not yet. Not until we know for sure."

* * *

They went in the Hummer, the only vehicle big enough to accommodate the whole team. The directions were fed into the vehicle's GPS system, which practically did the driving for them.

When they got there, the building's location and identity was . . . unexpected.

"The VFW hall?" Steve stared at the full parking lot and the people coming in and out. "This is his secret hideout?"

"Maybe we had the wrong address," Clint suggested.

Tony shook his head. "Nope. Checked it before we left." He wasn't wearing his suit, but a signal device in his pocket would summon it in an instant, if necessary.

"Let's just go in," said Natasha. She double-checked to make sure she had her throwing knives in her concealed pockets, and headed for the front door. After a moment, the others followed her.

"Oh, wow." A young woman sitting by the door saw them come in and stood up, looking them over appreciatively. "You look great! But . . . I thought John already had a Captain America."

"Who's John?" Tony asked.

"You're not here with John? But I thought-I know he's doing a superhero theme. He won't say anything more, though. He's about to go on, so you'd better get out there."

"Out where?" Steve looked around, and finally spotted a sign that read MAGNOLIA STREET INN ANNUAL STAFF TALENT SHOW. "Talent show? Is that what this is all about?"

"He's going to rob a homeless shelter?" asked Clint.

"No, no. He, um, volunteers at the shelter. Since last spring, he told me."

"When did he tell you this?"

"Last month. Someone came around to see him about Christmas baskets or something, and he 'fessed up."

"Wow. No wonder he wanted to keep it a secret. He knew we wouldn't believe him." Natasha relaxed a bit. "Well, at least we know now why he wanted pyrotechnics. I wonder if he ever found any?"

"Thank God nobody called Fury," said Bruce. "We would have looked pretty foolish."

Tony was looking around. "Hey, where's Thor?"

The others all searched the crowd, but he was nowhere to be found. "Great!" Clint grumbled. "He must have gone looking for Loki as soon as we arrived . . . he doesn't know it's just an act, does he?"

There was a pause as the implications sunk in.

"We've got to stop him," said Tony.

Just then, the lights went down. In that darkness, a single spotlight shone onto the stage. Into that small point of light, outfitted in full Asgardian regalia, stepped Loki.

"I am Loki of Asgard," he proclaimed to the audience, "and I am burdened with glorious purpose. I was born to rule, but cast out of the place I called home, by he whom I called Father. Asgard is unavailable to me; this realm, however, has possibilities. Bow to me, you mewling quims, for I am your law!"

Music started to play. Tony recognized the tune. "Judas Priest. At least he's got good taste in music."

"Ssh!" Steve hushed him. "He's . . . singing."

"There I was completely wasting, out of work and down

All inside it's so frustrating as I drift from town to town

Feel as though nobody cares if I live or die

So I might as well begin to put some action in my life!"

On the chorus, a trio of henchmen, dressed as Doctor Doom, Doctor Octopus, and Magneto, respectively, joined in, chanting, "Breaking the law! Breaking the law!"

"He's good," Bruce had to admit.

Natasha had other matters on her mind. "Where the hell is Thor?"

On the next verse, Loki looked out and saw them in the crowd. He directed the lyrics toward them, staring them straight in the face:

"So much for the golden future, I can't even start

I've had every promise broken, there's anger in my heart

You don't know what it's like, you don't have a clue

If you did you'd find yourselves doing the same thing too"

"Breaking the law, breaking the law!" Tony sang along. At the others' looks, he said, "What? I like the song! And you gotta admit, it's a good fit for him."

"Oh, no." Steve had just spotted Thor. He was striding down the aisle, hammer raised high. "We've got to stop him."

"Should I . . .?" Bruce asked. His hand went to the top button of his shirt, ready to remove it at a moment's notice.

"Not yet. Only as a last resort. Tony, you might want to suit up."

"Gotcha. Let me step out for a minute, then. I'll catch up." He went outside to summon the pieces of his suit, and the others hung back to see what Thor would do.

They didn't have to wait long.

"Loki!" the thunder god raged. "Cease this madness immediately!"

Strangely, it took Loki a moment to notice that his brother was there. He stopped singing (his backup singers continued for a moment before they, too, stopped) and looked confused for a second before deciding to just keep playing along.

"This is no madness!" he proclaimed. "This is the new world order-MY new world order. Join me, or die!"

From out of nowhere, a brightly-painted metal shield came spinning through the air and knocked the trickster god off his feet.

"Is that real metal?" a woman in the back row whispered. "I thought he was going to use a frisbee!"

"I thought you would have learned your lesson the last time we fought," Captain America said, stepping up onto the stage. "You can't beat us, Loki. You know that."

The three villain-garbed backup singers were moving toward the wings, unsure what was going on. They were met at the side of the stage by the two spies, who "tied" them up in stage "ropes".

"Just play along," Natasha whispered.

"This wasn't part of the act!" The one costumed as Magneto looked at his two compatriots. "It was just supposed to be Joe in the Captain America suit! That's not Joe!" He pointed to the front of the stage, where Cap was giving his usual lecture on freedom and tyranny.

"Slight change of plans," said Clint. "Just shuffle to the left, nice and slowly." Out loud, for the audience to hear, he said, "It's off to jail for you!"

The audience cheered and whistled. That was unexpected.

There was a _fwoosh!_ and Iron Man was hovering above the stage. "You know, Rudolph," he said, "the last time we met, you threw me out a window. I'd return the favor, but . . ." He looked left, then looked right, then back at Loki. "No windows. Unless you count those ones way up there. Think you'll fit through one of those?"

"You would not dare!" Loki stood with his hands on his hips, glaring defiantly.

"Oh, brother," Iron Man whispered to Cap. "He's really overacting!"

"Let's just wrap this up quickly. I want to be home in time for _Elementary_."

"You could just set the DVR. I'll do it for you." He pushed a button on his wrist, and something beeped. "There. Done."

"We should still get this over with."

By now Thor had climbed up on the stage, and was attempting to sneak up on Loki. Bad idea; Thor was about as stealthy as a bilgesnipe. Loki heard him coming and whirled to face him. "What are you doing here?" he hissed between his teeth.

"I am here to stop your evil plans, brother!" Thor, who had no concept of inside voices, shouted. "Come with me now, or face the consequences."

"You idiot! You'll ruin everything!"

"Your days of law-breaking are over," said Iron Man. "Either come with us quietly, or you'll go for a short ride through a very small window. Possibly head-first."

"We're supposed to bring him in unharmed," said Cap.

"Don't worry, I'll catch him before he hits the ground. Death's too good for him."

Loki started to run, but Iron Man knocked him down with a (low-level) repulsor blast. The heroes then seized him and dragged him offstage.

"You haven't heard the last of me!" Loki was shouting as they hauled him away. "I am Loki, God of Chaos, and I will rise again!"

It was only when they were safely in the wings, out of earshot of the audience, that he dropped the act.

"That was brilliant! I hadn't planned it, but you all did very well! Thank you for coming, and playing your parts."

"Wait a minute," said Steve. "You planned this?"

"What do you think that message was about? I told you to be here! I hadn't expected you to come in costume, but I'm glad you did."

Just then, a portly man in an overly tight Captain America costume came jogging up to them. "Am . . . I . . . late?" he huffed and puffed.

"Sorry, Joe," said "Doctor Doom."

"We've already done the act. These guys filled in for you," said "Doctor Octopus."

"My costume!" Steve looked it over. It didn't appear to be torn or wrinkled, though it might possibly have been stretched out a bit in the middle. "Loki, I wish you'd asked before borrowing my things. Sorry, sir, no offense. I'm sure you would have done very well."

"I couldn't have asked," said Loki. "That would have spoiled the surprise."

"Oh, we were surprised, all right," said Bruce. "We thought you'd gone to the Dark Side."

"Me? Never! Never again, at any rate. Though I hear they have cake."

"Listen." Natasha had an ear cocked towards the stage curtains. "Do you hear that?"

Everyone quieted down and listened. A thundering roar was growing louder and louder.

"They liked it," said Tony. "Who knew?"

"Let's go out there and take a bow," Steve suggested.

"ONE MOMENT!" Thor's thunderous shout stopped them in their tracks. They turned to him as one. "What is the meaning of this? Has my brother returned to his evil ways or not?"

Loki was laughing. "No, Thor, never again. It was all a show. Like the pantomimes the traveling theater company would put on every summer, when we were boys."

"A . . . play? You only **pretended **to be evil?"

The trickster sighed. "Yes, Thor. It was all a pretense. And listen: they loved it. They loved **me**!"

"Yes," said Cap, "but only because they think you're John Lawson, pretending to be Loki."

Thor's brow furrowed. "So you pretended to be someone else . . . pretending to be you?"

"Exactly." Loki smiled triumphantly.

"My head hurts."

"Oh, come on. Let's go greet our public."

Together, they stepped out onto the stage, and took a bow before an audience who would never know what truly went on here.


	5. Super Sunday

_(Author's note: WARNING! Do not read this if you haven't seen last night's game! Spoilers ahead!)_

"I still do not understand," Thor said, "this game called foot ball."

"Don't worry about it," said Tony. He was wearing a Patriots jersey, despite the fact that the Patriots weren't in the game this year. "You don't have to understand the game to watch it."

"It is like a battle, as I understand it," Loki, who was perched on the arm of the couch, a book in his lap, said, "but no one dies. A contest of strength."

"I think it's too brutal," said Natasha. "European football, where the players aren't allowed to touch each other, is much more civilized."

"It's better than it was back in the '70s and early '80s," said Bruce. "It was a bloodbath. There were so many injuries you wouldn't believe it. My dad was very into that kind of football. I never got it, myself. I don't mind watching, but I could never play anything like that."

"I bet **he** could," said Nathan. He was wearing a tight (though it was the largest size they had been able to find) Seahawks jersey and holding a bowl of chips the size of a manhole cover.

"I'm sure he could, but he doesn't understand things like rules all too well. I bet **you **could play football."

The boy looked sad. "I don't think I could. I'd get too excited and hurt someone."

"Aw, it's okay," said Riley, who was sitting next to him. She had a Super Bowl t-shirt, and hers was probably half the size of Nathan's, but loose. "It's about having fun, not hurting people."

Nathan gave her a funny look. "Have you **been **to our practices? It's **all **about hurting people! Not each other; people who deserve it, I mean."

"Ssh!" The game was about to start. They all stood for the National Anthem, hands on hearts, and waited for it to finish before cheering and whooping. It was a side effect of living with Captain America, though Cap wasn't even in the city today.

"At least the weather's not an issue," Bruce observed. "They were so worried about the game being snowed out."

"It's been like spring today," said Tony. "Absolutely beautiful-whoa! What the heck just happened?"

"Ha haa!" Natasha was grinning from ear to ear. "The ball went right over Peyton Manning's head! Score, Seahawks!"

"What, just like that?" Clint watched the replay in disbelief. "Well, it's still early. They can turn it around."

"Was he not supposed to do that?" asked Thor.

"Um, no. No, he wasn't. He should have intercepted that!"

"Am I to infer, Clinton, that you might just have money on this game?" Tony asked.

"Not money, exactly . . . I sort of have this bet going with Phil. If the Broncos win, he has to send me a picture of himself in shorts and a t-shirt. If the Seahawks win, I have to send him a picture of me . . . in a dress."

"So humiliation is part of the tradition?" asked Loki.

"Sometimes. But I won't **be **humiliated, because the Broncs will turn this around any minute now! You just wait till the next quarter!"

"Yay! Go Broncos!" Riley cheered, waving her Diet Coke like a pompom. It was mostly empty, but not quite; a few drops splattered onto the couch. "Oops!"

"Not to worry," said Tony. "It's leather; it washes off."

"How come Pepper's not joining us?" Bruce asked.

Tony shrugged. "She said she had work to do. Between us, though, I think she's probably not that crazy about football."

"Neither am I," said Loki. "It seems to be a lot of pointless running around. And they earn millions of dollars for this?"

"Only the best ones do." Tony stood up, gathering up empty plates and cups. "Who wants more chips?"

"Do you have any of the cheese-flavored ones?" Thor asked eagerly.

"I think so. Be right back."

Riley got up, too. "Um, I have to go . . ."

"Check your sugar?" Bruce finished for her. "Sure, go ahead. Nobody else needs to use the bathroom right now, do they?"

No one did. Riley grabbed her test kit out of her overnight bag and headed for the bathroom. While she was in there, the Seahawks made another two touchdowns.

It turned out to be the most one-sided game any of them had seen in recent memory. The Seahawks pounded out touchdown after touchdown while the Broncos were lucky to make one. As the game went on, those who were rooting for the Broncos became more and more disheartened. Those who were Seahawks fans or just didn't care were pleased with the outcome. The final score was so lopsided as to be ridiculous.

"And that," said Tony, "is divine justice. **Nobody **beats the Patriots and gets away with it!"

"I didn't know you were a Pats fan," said Natasha.

"Tried to buy the team a few years ago, but Bob Kraft wouldn't return my calls. It's just as well. They're doing fine without me."

"We're not watching that postgame nonsense, are we?"

"What's wrong with the postgame wrapup?"

"It just seems like a lot of yakety-yak."

"Well, what would you have us watch? _Downton Abbey_?"

Loki was checking something on his phone. "_Escape from New York _is just starting on the Retro Channel."

"We can watch it at my place," said Bruce. "That way, whoever wants to watch the postgame show can stay here, and those who don't can come downstairs and watch one of the greatest sci-fi action movies of all time."

"Sounds good to me," said Natasha. "You coming, kids?"

"I need to go find a dress," Clint grumbled.

"You can wear one of mine."

"Like it would fit me."

"I think I have one that will. Kids? You coming, or are you staying to watch the commercials?"

"Can we stay up?" Nathan asked. "I mean, since we have an excused absence for tomorrow, and all."

Bruce nodded. "You can stay up as late as you like. After all, the Super Bowl only happens once a year."

* * *

The next day, two things had the whole tower buzzing.

The first was the fact that one of the commercials during the game had featured a trio of British villains, one of whom looked remarkably like Loki.

And the second? The second would be the photo that was currently circulating of Clint, in Natasha's maternity dress, holding up a sign that said CONGRATULATIONS SEAHAWKS! Under that, in smaller caps, it read I HATE YOU, PHIL.


	6. Cat's in the Cradle

It was all the fault of that damn oldies station.

They were driving to the electronics store a few miles away. Bruce had decided to try driving short distances, to see if he could do it. It had been literally years since he'd been behind the wheel, but he felt confident enough to take the first step toward getting his license back.

Tony was with him, more for company than in case of any incidents. It was he who suggested putting the radio on, and they chose the oldies station because it played Seventies and Eighties hits, one of the few types of music on which they could agree.

Then that damn song came on the radio.

And Bruce actually sang along.

"_And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, Little Boy Blue and the Man in the-"_

"I hate this damn song," Tony said suddenly.

Bruce stopped singing and asked him, "Why?"

"Have you ever actually **listened **to the lyrics?"

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone thinks it's a sweet little song about a father and son, and it isn't, not really. It's about a father who's always too busy to spend any time with his son, who's always got a meeting to go to or work to do, and the kid grows up to be just like him. I grew up with that father, and I won't be that guy."

"Ah," Bruce said, "so that's what this is about."

"I can't do it, Beebs. I can't be a father, cause I never had what you'd call a good role model. I can't make the same mistakes he did . . . but somehow I know I will anyway."

"You don't have to."

"How do I not? How do **you **do it? You had an even worse dad than me! At least mine never beat the crap out of me. He probably would have got one of his assistants to do it for him."

"I think you're too hard on your dad. Sure, he worked a lot of hours, but he was doing it to build your future."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I understand, but that doesn't make it any easier. I've got six months to figure out how to do this."

At that, Bruce laughed. "A child isn't a device you can look at and take apart and figure out how it works! There's no one-size-fits-all solutions here; you just have to find what works for you, and go with it."

"What if nothing works?"

The light turned green. Bruce reacted a split-second too late, and the car behind him blew its horn. "Can we talk about this when I'm not trying to concentrate on driving?"

"Sure. Sorry. Deep breaths, man, deep breaths."

When they finally got to the store, Bruce said, "Sorry to be short with you back there. I know this has been bothering you for a while. But everyone has these doubts. I still do."

"But your kid is wonderful! Whatever you did, you did right. Is that the secret? All the bad crap that was done to you, you just do the opposite?"

"It's not quite that simple. But you're right, I guess. I mean, I never heard my dad say 'I love you,' so I make sure I always say it to Nate. Even though he knows, and I know he knows, sometimes we just have to hear the words. By the way, that works for wives, too."

"Not that you have one."

"Yet."

Tony raised his eyebrows at this, but said nothing.

"I'm not saying you should go so far as to quit everything and spend twenty-four hours a day with him-except maybe at the beginning-but make sure to give him plenty of love and attention. And never, ever, give him any reason to fear you. Don't raise your voice, don't threaten, and don't ever raise a hand to him in anger. It's too easy to go down that road, so don't even think about it."

"Gotcha. What are we looking for, by the way?"

"I thought you were the one here to pick up something."

They looked at each other in confusion, and then laughed.

"Well," Tony said, "as long as we're here, let's see what they've got for components."

"Components of what?"

"Oh . . . nothing."

"You're building him a suit, aren't you?"

"Just a prototype! Just as an exercise, to see if I can do it!"

"Pepper said no."

**"****Pepper doesn't have to know about it."**


	7. Valentine

It was Bruce's first time in a serious relationship (it seemed that that's what this was after all), and he wasn't sure what would be expected of him on Valentine's Day.

He'd never been one for grand romantic gestures-hearts, flowers, candlelight and soft music, and all that. But he felt that Betty would be expecting **something **in the way of gifts/flowers/candy/dinner/movies/possibly sex afterwards.

Should he surprise her, or should he ask her what she wanted? The direct approach was probably best. That way, there was no chance that his surprise would backfire on him.

He went downstairs to her place and knocked on the door.

"Yes?"

"It's me, hon."

"Just a minute. I'm not dressed yet. It's open; come on in. I'll be right there."

All right. He tried the door handle, and it was indeed unlocked. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and was unsure what to do next. Sit down on her lovely cream-colored couch? It was almost too pretty to touch.

He stood there awkwardly until she came out of the bedroom. "Hi. Go ahead, sit down."

"You should put plastic slipcovers on that couch. Light colors attract dirt like a magnet."

"Don't worry about it. Furniture is meant to be lived in, not looked at like a museum piece. And I refuse to put plastic on my couch-it smells awful!"

"You're right about that. Okay, if you don't have a problem, I won't have a problem." He sat down, careful to keep his feet well away from the bottom of the couch. "What I wanted to talk about was . . . well, Friday is Valentine's Day."

"I know. Don't make a big deal about it. I don't need a special day to know how you feel about me." She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I just wanted to do something special, since it's our first Valentine's Day as a couple, and all. We should go out, maybe. Are there any movies that you've been wanting to see?"

"Not really. I'd be perfectly happy just staying in and watching TV, to tell you the truth. You don't have to spend more than twenty dollars on me. I'll be just as happy with just you."

"Are you sure? You're not telling me 'don't spend a lot of money' when you really want me to go all out?"

She raised her head and looked him in the eye. "Bruce, I don't play games. If I wanted a big night, I'd have said so. How about this: we each get each other one small but meaningful gift, and then just hang out together? Does that work for you?"

"That's just fine," he said, relieved that her expectations were so modest. Not that he wasn't willing to spend everything he had to make her happy, but being able to save money and accomplish the same goal was a bonus.

"I'll see you Friday night, then."

"Should we order some pizza? And I'll rent a movie. Any preference?"

She just smiled. "Surprise me."

* * *

"'Surprise me,' she says," Bruce later lamented to Tony. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Tony whistled. "Oh, boy. Your surprise had better be something really special. I suppose a romantic movie would be too obvious?"

"It feels like the easy way out. I should pick a movie she's been waiting to see for a while, but I don't know what she likes!"

"You have no clue?"

"The last movie we saw together was _Princess Bride_."

"Nothing like the classics. You could go with that."

"I don't know . . . I was thinking something more recent."

"That movie about the White House butler is supposed to be good. Is it available on demand?"  
"I think so."

"If it isn't, I know Redbox has it. There's a machine outside the supermarket. It's a buck-something a night."

"Cheap date."

"She said she didn't want you to spend a lot of money on her. You're just doing what she asked."

"And I have to get her a gift. An under-twenty-dollar gift. Any ideas on that?"

"I don't know. Perfume? Chocolates? Does she collect anything?"

"She likes frogs."

"Get her a frog, then. But not one of those kitschy stuffed ones holding a big heart that says I LOVE YOU. A classy frog.'

"Where would I find something like that?"

"How should I know? I never buy things like that. Pepper hates dust collectors."

"So something useful, then."

"Whatever. You know her better than I do."

On his way to the supermarket, Bruce spotted a little antique shop tucked in between a coffee shop and a check-cashing place. He went inside purely on a whim, not really looking for anything, but everything he saw was so cute, he just had to pick them up, carefully, and look them over.

"Everything on that shelf is five dollars," said a voice on his immediate left. He turned and saw a man in late middle-age, wearing a light blue cardigan over a gray button-down shirt, smiling. "Do you happen to have any frogs?"

"Like live frogs?"

"No, no, stuffed, figurines, things like that. Something cute."

"Cute . . . I think I have just the thing. Hold on." The man, whom Bruce thought was probably the proprietor rather than just a clerk, disappeared into the depths of the shop, returning a few minutes later holding a white box. "Is this what you had in mind?"

Bruce opened the box and lifted out a porcelain figurine of a frog holding an umbrella. APRIL SHOWERS was written across the base. "This is perfect. How much?"

"Well, I'll tell you. It's been in the window for a month now, and no one's taken an interest, except for one lady who stops to look at it every time she walks by, but never comes in to check the price."

"She's going to be disappointed," Bruce said.

"I don't think so. Dark hair, green jacket? Buys her coffee next door, and a blueberry muffin."

That sounded like her, all right. Betty loved blueberry muffins. "If it isn't her," Bruce said, "tell her I'm sorry but the frog needed a home."

"Like I said, I don't think it'll be necessary, but I'll remember that. These are normally twenty-five dollars apiece, but since it's going to a good home, I can let you have both of them for thirty."

"Both of them?"

"There's another piece in this set. I'll go get it for you." He left again, and came back with an identical white box.

Inside was another frog, this one watering a garden full of colorful flowers. Across the base was written BRING MAY FLOWERS.

"They're perfect," he said. "Do you take credit cards?"

* * *

Friday night came, and they met at her place. He brought two boxes of pizza (one plain, one with sausage and pepperoni), a bottle of soda, and three movies.

"I didn't know," he said, "whether you wanted action, drama, or comedy, so I got all three. We can have a mini film festival."

"I don't have to be anywhere tomorrow," she said. "Start with the comedy, and we'll work it out from there."

The first movie wasn't that great, but it wasn't too terrible either. It was something to occupy their eyeballs while they ate. When it was over, Bruce went to put on the action movie, but Betty said, "Wait. Let's have the gifts now."

"I thought it wasn't a big deal."

"Not that big, but I'd like to give you your present now. Ready?"

"I have to confess: I have two for you. But they're a set, and I couldn't break them up. You'll see why when you see them."

"You first." She reached behind the couch and pulled out a medium-sized box, wrapped in bright green paper. "Go on, open it."

He took the package from her gingerly, as if it might explode. Then he carefully peeled back the wrapping paper . . .

"Oh, wow." He never would have guessed she knew about his secret love for lesser-known Brat Pack movies. The gift was a boxed set of _Say Anything, Grandview USA, _and _Some Kind of Wonderful. _"Where did you find this?"

"The dollar store, if you can believe that. They had one with five movies, but I hadn't heard of any of them, so I wasn't sure if you'd know them."

"I know them. I like them. This is great, really great. Thanks."

"But that's not all!" She produced a gift bag, also green. "I felt bad about buying your gift at the dollar store, so I made up a little gift bag from the gourmet chocolate shop."

"Yum." They were the same peanut-butter-filled chocolates she'd given him last year, but they were welcome any time. "Thanks. Your turn."

He was crap at wrapping presents, so he'd bought a big red gift bag, tucked both boxes inside with a lot of pink tissue paper, and tied a big red bow on the handle. Hopefully that would make up for the fact that the boxes themselves were unwrapped.

She took her time untying the bow. It was velvet flocked on one side, and she ran her fingers over it again and again before daring to penetrate the layers of paper to the treasures within. Eventually she got to the boxes, hauled them both out, and opened them one by one.

By mistake, she opened May Flowers first; Bruce realized he should have numbered the boxes, or given some other indication of the order in which they were to be opened.

"Sorry. Once you open the other one, it should make sense."

"There's another one?"

"Well, what did you think the other box was for?"

"I wasn't sure."

'i don't play games, either. Open it."

She did so, and found April Showers. "Oh, I get it now! They're adorable!"

"You buy your coffee at the Green Bean, don't you?"

"Yes. Why?"

"The man in the shop next door told me that a woman with dark hair, carrying a cup from the Green Bean, walked by every day and saw this little thing in the window, but never dared to come inside. That was you, wasn't it?"

She looked away for a second, shyly, and then looked back at him. "I wanted it, I really did, but . . . I just never managed to get up the courage to go inside and buy it."

"Well, then, it's lucky I happened to see this, isn't it? Otherwise you might never have had the courage to go get it."

"I might have, eventually."

"Now you don't have to worry about it. You have them. And just in time for spring, too."

"Spring's still months away. There's still snow on the ground."

"It'll be here before we know it. Which movie did you want to watch next?"

She looked them over. "You didn't get a romantic film?"

"You hate sappy love stories."

"Yeah, but it's Valentine's Day."

"So what? We'll watch what we want. Come on, pick one."

"This one." She chose the action film next.

"Good choice. Here, let me." He unpacked the two frogs and set them on the coffee table, facing the TV. "Now April and May can watch the movie with us."

"Do you think they'll like it?"

"I think," he said, settling in next to her, "that they'll be easy to please. Just keep them together, and nothing will go wrong."

"Because some things are meant to be together."

"No matter what."


	8. Photographs and Memories

It arrived in the mail near the end of February, a plain white envelope with the name of his former high school and REUNION COMMITTEE in the return address corner. Bruce wasn't going to open it-he hadn't opened the fifth or tenth reunion reminders, and had been out of the country for the next two-but Darcy, who was visiting his lab, was overcome by curiosity. "What's this?"

"It's nothing. Just leave it."

"Reunion committee? You got a class reunion coming up, Doc?"

"I'm not going.'

"Aw, and miss the chance to rub the fact that you're a superhero in all your classmates' faces? That's what reunions are for! I can't wait to go to my next reunion and tell everyone what I've been up to."

"I wasn't close to anyone. It wouldn't matter. It's not like I had a ton of friends or anything; I couldn't wait to get away from that place, and everybody knew it."

There was a sound of ripping paper. "Hey! Opening someone else's mail is a Federal offense!"

"Yeah, who's gonna know? Ooh! Twenty-fifth reunion! I didn't know you were that-I mean, you look good, Doc."

"For an old man, you mean?" He turned to her with a rueful grin.

"I didn't mean it like that! Oh, look, there's a picture! Oh my God, is that you?"

Bruce looked at the single sheet of paper, which did indeed have a small black-and-white reproduction of his yearbook photo in the upper right corner. "Yeah, so what?"

"Look at you! You look like such a nerd!"

"I was a nerd. In a good way."

"What, like, president of the Chess Club, treasurer of the A/V Club, that kind of thing?"

"I was vice-president of the Science Club, and recording secretary of the _Doctor Who_ Fan Club."

"You had a _Doctor Who_ Fan Club?"

"Back before _Doctor Who_ was cool. Although those in the club would tell you he always was."

"Awesome! So who's your favorite Doctor?"

"Nine."

"Really? Me too!"

"Although I have a soft spot in my heart for Tom Baker."

"Yeah, I like some of his stuff, too. So . . . are you going?"

"I don't think so."

"Why?" She pronounced the single word as if it had five syllables. "I know you plan ahead, but I seriously doubt you have plans for June already."

"I'll be just getting back from Ecuador at the end of April, so I don't know if I'll be up for another long plane ride."

'Aw, c'mon! You know that if you really, really wanted to go, you'd make it happen! So why don't you want to go? Seriously."

"Seriously?" He sat down on the hard plastic chair and sighed. "I just don't see the point. It's not like I had a lot of friends. Most of them don't even live there anymore. And it's not a place that has good memories for me."

"You went back in the summer," she pointed out. "Nay-Nay wrote a blog post all about your visit to your old house. Why didn't you wanna go inside?"  
"You call him Nay-Nay?"

"Yeah." She popped her gum and grinned at him. "So what's the biggie? What did you do that you can't ever show your face there again? Tell me."

"It's not that-I mean-oh, what the hell. I beat up a guy the last week of classes."

"Whoa! For real? How bad? Did the jerk have it coming?"

"Yes, I broke his arm, and nothing ever justifies violence."

"What did he do to you? Tell me, tell me!"

The eagerness in her voice almost put him off telling her. No one should take pleasure in harming another human being. Finally, he realized she wasn't going to leave without hearing this story, so he told her.

"He was on the football team, but he wasn't the stereotypical jock: he was on the student council, and worked in his father's store, and he was generally a nice guy. I guess I caught him on a bad day, though. He bumped into me in the hall, and when I protested, he made some smart remark and kept walking. I heard him laughing about it with his buddies, and . . ."

"You saw green?"

"Well, it was a bit too early for that, but, basically, yeah. I took a flying leap, knocked him down, and just kept punching him. He broke the arm when he landed on it wrong; I didn't actually do that. But as good as. It took all three of his friends-big guys-to pull me off him. I was suspended for three days, and they called my father."

"And he read you the riot act?"

"No. That's the truly awful part. He was proud of me, for 'being a man for once.' He was happy that I'd stood up for myself for once. He took me out for a big steak dinner that night. Meanwhile, I felt absolutely sick about the whole thing. It was two days later, just before I was supposed to go back to school, that I almost tried to kill myself."

"You **what**?" She stared at him with wide eyes.

"I was sick of it, sick of everything, and if that was what I had to do to win my father's love and respect, I didn't want any part of it. I grabbed a bunch of old medications out of the bathroom and dumped them all out in front of me. I was just deciding which one to take first when the mail came."

"Saved by the mail truck?"

"I know, bit of an anticlimax, right? But in that day's mail was a letter for me. An acceptance letter. From CalTech. All of a sudden, it looked like I might have a future after all. I went back into the bathroom and scooped up all the pills into the right containers-at least I think they were the right containers-and my dad never knew. And eight weeks later, I left that house and never went back . . . until last summer."

She waited, but it seemed that was the end of the story. "That's it? That's the terrible thing they'll never forgive you for?"

"I didn't say that."

"Doc, that was twenty-five years ago. Longer than I've been alive! That guy probably doesn't even remember how he broke his arm senior year. And even if he does, I'm sure he's forgiven you by now. So go, and show them that you're not a fraidy cat!"

Neither of them heard the door open. They didn't even register another presence in the room until Tony said, "Is that you, Beebs?"

He was holding the letter. Bruce had the impulse to snatch it back, but he resisted. "Yes, it is. Or was."

"What a geek! I should show everyone this picture!"

"Don't you dare!" Darcy was on her feet and moving between Tony and the door. "He broke a guy's arm once!"

"**Gravity** broke his arm, I just-"

"JARVIS, can you scan and copy this?" Tony interrupted him.

"Is that wise, sir?"

"And print up five hundred copies."

"I'm afraid I can't, sir."

"Nice to see an AI with principles," said Bruce. "Thank you, JARVIS."

"Oh, it's not because of principles, Dr. Banner. I can't print five hundred copies because there are only two hundred sheets of paper in the copier."

"Then print two hundred copies," Tony said. "I want one on every wall on the top five floors."

"Done. Your copies are printing now."

"Thanks. I'd better go up and fill the paper and ink before Pep finds out what's up." He sauntered out of the room, hands in his pockets, whistling a jaunty tune.  
"Hey! That's mean!" Darcy ran after him. "I'll tear down every one you put up! You coming, Doc?"

"No," Bruce said calmly. "I'm plotting my elegant, amazing, and non-arm-breaking revenge."

"Ooh! Can't wait to find out what that's all about!"

"You will. Everyone will find out, soon enough. Go rip up those pages and save my reputation."

"Does this mean you're going to the reunion after all?"

"Thinking about it."

"If you do, can I come with?"

"We'll see."

She pouted, but left quietly. Bruce smiled and set the first part of his plan of revenge into action.

* * *

After a busy afternoon chasing around after Tony,, pulling down every picture that he had put up, Darcy was exhausted. It was all she could do to drag herself to the top floor for dinner with the other tower residents.

On the way, she ripped down two of the pictures that she had somehow missed. "Did I get 'em all?" she wondered aloud. "Hey, Jarv?"

"Yes, Miss Lewis?"

"Are there any of those pictures still up anywhere around? I thought I got them all, but I'm not sure now."

"Scanning. No, there remains only one copy of the infamous picture, besides the one in my data files."

"Great. Where is it?"

"In Mr. Stark's hand."

Great. No way she was getting it away from him without a fight. And she was in no shape for a fight right now. "Thanks, buddy."

"Any time, Miss Lewis."

The elevator doors opened, and it seemed everyone was staring at her. "What?"

"You have . . . something . . . on your shoe," Jane said, pointing.

Darcy looked down and saw one of the photo flyers had somehow stuck to the bottom of her shoe. "Oh, this! It's, um . . . nothing." She crumpled it up and stuck it in her pants pocket until she could get to a trash barrel.

There was no sign of Tony yet, which was not good. He must be really planning something big and embarrassing. Darcy took a seat next to Jane and waited to see what would happen next.

Presently Tony arrived, hands empty. Uh oh-that was a bad sign. What had he done with the picture?

"JARVIS," he said, "display photo B-89."

The photo was projected onto the tabletop for all to see. Darcy buried her face in her hands. It was worse than she had thought.

Natasha was the first to break the stunned silence that had fallen over the table. "Oh, my God, Bruce. Is that you?"

"Yes," the physicist said calmly. "That is my high school yearbook photo. Feel free to laugh."

"You seem to be taking this pretty well," said Steve.

"Oh, I came prepared. See, I had a friend do some digging in the MIT archives . . . JARVIS, photo B-1145, please."

A second photo appeared beside the first. This one was of a sixteen-year-old Tony Stark, as none of them had ever seen him before.

This one, they laughed at.

"Oh, come on!" Tony protested. "It was the Eighties, everyone dressed like that!"

"Nice mullet, dude!" Clint said in between chuckles.

"It is **not** a mullet! It just looks that way because the front is feathered!"

This only provoked further fits of laughter. Thor laughed even though he wasn't sure what was funny.

"Okay, okay," Tony said. "You've all had your fun. You can delete this now, or send it back to where you got it, or whatever."

"Too late," Bruce said, with a devious grin.

"What? Too late for what?"

"That picture's just gone live on several social media networks, and is currently being viewed by millions of people all around the world. The comments should be coming in . . . any moment now."

The billionaire glared at him. "You are evil, B! Absolutely ruthless!"

"Well, I learned from the best." He sat back in his chair and started mentally calculating how much he would need for airfare to Ohio, hotel reservations, and a really nice rental car.

People changed, after all. He couldn't wait to show his old classmates how much.


End file.
